


Nicknames

by abscission



Series: Germancest One-shots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6655705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany wasn't a person easily annoyed, really, but his brothers antics grate on him just a little, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nicknames

**Author's Note:**

> For Germancest Week 2015. Prompt: "East and West".

Ludwig isn’t sure when Gilbert began to call him by ‘West’.

He must have been young to allow it, he thinks, because who else did it?

One doesn’t catch Netherlands calling Belgium any directional nicknames, nor did the Italy brothers call each other anything other than ‘Veneziano’ and ‘Romano’.

He doubted the Asian countries did any directional nickname calling, either.

So, like the efficient man he’d like to think he is, he put it to test.

* * *

On the first day, he noted how many times Gilbert called him ‘West’.

26.

Once for him to get his work the hell done, thrice for him to get him a snack. Ten times went to pestering, two more during intimate times, another two with regards to his dogs, and eight times for more beer.

* * *

On the second day, he ignored Gilbert if Gilbert addressed him as ‘West’.

All throughout the day, he stuck courageously to his work, not budging even at his brother’s worst whining tantrums (which went something like  _westwestwestwest I’m bored entertain me ahhh westwestwestwest whhhyyy west why are you ignoring me ahh_ _westwestwestwest_ complete with obligatory crotch grab).

By afternoon, Gilbert had caught on, and dropped it altogether, but what came out of his mouth next wasn’t any nicer.

'Lutz!’ was one version, the better one. 

‘Lud!’ is another, which Ludwig detested. The sound of it was extremely despicable. What is he, a block of wood?

‘Luddy!’ was the worst, which Gilbert came up with when examining Veneziano’s habits in detail while inebriated with three packs of beer.

That night, after he had turned off the light and climbed into bed, he sensed he had offended his brother somehow. Gilbert was turned away from him, pretending to sleep.

Ludwig shrugged, and went to sleep. His brother had centuries of experience atop him. The ‘awesome’ Gilbert isn’t going away just because ‘ickle Luddy’ (picked up from England) did not reply to an age-old nickname.

* * *

On the third day, he tried calling Gilbert ‘East’.

Why not? he'd figured, they’re more than equals now— he’s in fact in a role more important than his brother. Why can’t he call his brother by a directional nickname too?

Despite his internal reasoning, opening his mouth to call Gilbert ‘East’ across the breakfast table called for a certain measure of courage he didn’t know he didn’t possess.

He didn’t have work that day, a rare occurrence, so he sat at the table, nursing a gradually cooling cup of coffee as Gilbert attacked their Wii console with his usual video game fervor.

Gilbert was playing one of those kinetic games, those that involved waving the white remote around.

“East?” he'd said, not meaning for it to come out a question, he’d wanted it to be a seamless transition, similar in stature to how ‘West’ slips from Gilbert naturally.

On an exuberant upswing, the remote flew from Gilbert’s pale hands and rocketed into the ceiling, falling back down with a phenomenal clatter.

Gilbert turned, and the expression on his face was a mix of amusement, bemusement, and exasperation.

“Who, me?” he asked, white eyebrows high on his forehead, eyes wide, one pale finger stabbing to himself.

Ludwig grimaced, and, to avoid answering, placed his still-full cup of coffee to his lips. He took a sip.

It was disgusting. On top of being too cold, he had forgotten his sugar.

* * *

That evening, the Chancellor suddenly sent him a table full of work, and he labored into the night, reading till his eyes were dry about immigration policies and the limits of asylum grants.

By the time he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, the antique grandfather clock in the hallway (that Gilbert insisted he keep— it was a relic from a time he isn't around, his brother claimed) ticked a three-thirty.

And Gilbert was up, waiting for him, nightlight on, curled into a ball with a blanket emblazoned with the Prussian eagle and look-alikes of his yellow chick, reading a tome by Immanuel Kant.

When he entered, Gilbert didn’t put away the book, instead peered at him over the edge.

He huffed sightly, but went about changing into his nightwear, feeling Gilbert’s red eyes on him the whole while, but no intent.

He climbed into bed a few minutes later, not thinking anything, only luxuriating in the soft colors the bedroom offered in contrast to the stark whiteness of his work papers.

 

Gilbert closed the thick book softly, placing it on the nightstand, leaving the nightlight on.

“Ludwig,” he began, tentatively, “did I offend you?”

Ludwig, who had began to drift the moment his head touched the pillow, snapped awake.

“No!”

Gilbert’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Then explain your recent behavior.”

Caught, Ludwig grimaced once more.

“If, I said it was mere curiosity?” he tried, watching his brother through slightly stinging eyes.

“I will whack you with my book.”

“It was curiosity.”

Gilbert, always true to his words, grabbed the thick philosophy tome and with a slight frown, whopped Ludwig’s head lightly.

“You wanted to know why I call you that, no?” Ludwig was relieved to see his brother’s usual spark of amusement rekindled in those red eyes. Whatever hook he had been on the day before, he was off it today.

“You could just ask,” Gilbert sighed, placing the book, whose pages were yellowed with age, Ludwig noted, possibly another of his priceless private hoard that really should be donated to the museum and archives instead of sitting in the basement, back onto the nightstand.

“Why?” he asked after some slight hesitation, sitting up and pulling the pillow upright to lean on. “I’m not saying I don’t like it or is annoyed by it. I want to know where it came from. Other siblings don’t refer to each other with geographical location.”

“Don’t they?” Gilbert said, a corner of his mouth tilted upwards, hand lingering on the book, which resulted in his face half hidden by shadow, the other half lit in the warm orange light of the lamp. Ludwig was seized with an urge to turn him around and kiss it away.

“No,” he maintained, shaking his head slightly. Gilbert was being quasi-serious, it should be a cause for celebration, and not the kind behind closed doors.

“…in the beginning, I was so alone,” Gilbert suddenly said, and Ludwig was struck with the uncharacteristic emotion behind his words. “Russia was a runt, Denmark was a punk, but my place was too far away from the former and too cold and alien for the latter. Hungary was busy being a boy. Where the Knights led me, I went, and they were a floaty bunch.

And then, we settled. And then, I became a country. And then,” and here he turned, and in the soft glow of the lamp Ludwig discovered even his brother had soft edges. There was soft, tiny smile on his face, almost imperceptible. “You came along. My little brother. My bit of the world. My West.”

The smile morphed into a jagged, roguish smirk as Gilbert leaned in, the light of the lamp casting a hallo around his snow-white head.

“Can you blame me?”

Ludwig’s breath was caught in his throat; he didn’t know how to reply.

“Your measly attempt at imitating me at breakfast today was so fucking hilarious, by the way,  _bruder_ , it was pathetic,” Gilbert continued, leaning back, thoroughly breaking the moment and at the same time squashing mercilessly any desire Ludwig might have dredged up at this unearthly hour of the morning.

The usual cackling laughter broke out right next to his ear, and Ludwig snatched his propped-up pillow and stuffed in Gilbert’s face.

When it died down, which, given the circumstances, was quick, Ludwig closed the space between them and gave Gilbert a chaste kiss.

“Thank you,  _bruderlein_.”

Gilbert made a retching noise, reaching over to turn off the nightlight.

“Burph, West, you’re too sweet. Do you see my teeth melting? My teeth are melting. Look at what you’re doing to me.”

“I’m doing nothing,  _bruder_ , you’re being dramatic again.”

“Arrgh! Go to sleep!”

In the darkness, Ludwig smiled into his pillow.

He was being foolish again. Why bother? He  _liked_  being called West.

“ _Gute Nacht, bruderlein._ "


End file.
